Selfish
by Meanderings
Summary: The only thing separating them was the War. Blaise was determined to keep Theodore without admitting it. Theodore thought there was something worth dying for. Slash. Complete.
1. The Rising Action

**Title:** Selfish  
**Author:** Meanderings  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Notes:** So I starting writing this two years ago. I never finished, so I decided to finally go back and try to. This is divided into short, four parts. This first part was written the two years ago, unedited.  
**Sum:** The only thing separating them was the War. Blaise was determined to keep Theodore without admitting it. Theodore thought there was something worth dying for. Slash. Part One.  
**Disclaimer:** Don't own.  
**Edited**: Dec. 20

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**Selfish**

* * *

Blaise Zabini wasn't one to mingle with others, but he wasn't someone that enjoyed complete solitude either. He would make loud and sarcastic chat with members of the other Houses, but he was seen talking quietly with other Slytherins. He wasn't a teacher's pet or obsessed about studying like Granger, but he still managed near perfect grades easily. He didn't like flying or the sport Quidditch, but for some reason he was an avid fan of the Irish team and attended every Hogwarts game. 

Everyone had their odd qualities, but Blaise was anything but odd. People supposed it was just his personality, Slytherin traits, and others assumed it had something to do with his mother. No one knew who his biological father was; not even Theodore Nott knew. There were a few rumors that Blaise was actually adopted, but that wouldn't make him a Zabini, now would it? That would be a disgrace. He was pure-blood, that was for sure.

Blaise Zabini wasn't interesting or boring. He was simply there and here, right in the middle, just like his place in the war. Not even Draco Malfoy could persuade him; Harry Potter had even less luck. Blaise just stood where he always stood. It was as simple as that.

They said that his mother's man abused him and the woman didn't care, which was why Blaise always seemed to dread returning to Italy. Not that he didn't like Italy, but no one knew that for sure, they just knew he liked Hogwarts for certain. Rome, Italy, the city for romance, but Blaise wasn't romantic. He found poems dull, roses too red, and holding hands in the way.

Of course, Lavender Brown said otherwise. The girl was wild, the meaning behind gossip, when it came to swapping the latest scandal. Blaise was seen with Dean Thomas, but apparently he was dating Susan Bones whom he only got together with to win a bet with Terry Boot. No one knew if Lavender was telling the truth or not; the student body was never sure. Blaise didn't participate in drinking games so no Slytherin ever figured out if the rumor was true, much to the disappoint of the Ravenclaws. Blaise liked that. He was all about disappointment.

His mother was disappointed that he didn't turn out to be a girl, given his nice, pretty looks.  
His grandfather was disappointed that Blaise didn't attend Durmstrang.  
Rita Skeeter didn't like that fact that Blaise didn't have a reputation like his mother; less for her to write, lie, about.  
When his mother became Maura Gorgovitz, Blaise's cousin were disappointed he didn't have anything to say about it.  
Blaise was disappointed every time Draco Malfoy didn't catch the Snitch.  
Blaise was always disappointed with something.

If he sat on his bed or one of the Common room's couches, hand in his hair and quill dabbing dots onto a piece of parchment, lost at what to write to his mother, then he was thinking over simple things. When he had difficult things to deal with, he was difficult to deal with.

Theodore knew when to leave Blaise alone and when to try and talk to him.

It was four weeks into their seventh year and the days passed as normally as they could. One morning, the Slytherin came down to the Great Hall, eyelids drooped, gait lazy, and his head slightly tilted to his right. On his way to the Slytherin table, he passed by the Gryffidors and let a contemptuous glance sweep over them. Harry Potter caught the look and was puzzled until Ron Weasely pulled him out of his thoughts. The Gryffindor turned away just as Blaise sat down next to Theodore's left, his usual place, where Millicent Bulstrode would be on his right.

Theodore made no gesture to greet his friend as he continued sipping his pumpkin juice, seemingly listening intently to Malfoy's rant, so Blaise turned away, grinned politely and started up a small chat with Bulstrode. The skinny Slytherin knew that Blaise was thinking about something from the way he walked, but he decided to wait until later to ask. After all, it had something to do with the Golden Boy.

It was after lunch, a free period, that Theodore decided to have a talk with his friend. He found Blaise sitting in an empty classroom down in the dungeons, charming a paper plane to fly around. The door squeaked loudly as he stepped into the room.

Blaise turned to look at Theodore. "Not reading?" An eyebrow was raised in what seemed to be amusement.

Theodore shrugged a shoulder and took a seat next to the other Slytherin. "No."

"…No," Blaise repeated quietly, almost mockingly.

There was a minute of comfortable silence until, "What's with the Potter boy?"

The paper plane dropped to the ground as Blaise slid his wand back into his pocket. "And just what do you mean by that?"

"Today at breakfast, that _look_ you gave him."

Blaise rolled his eyes. "Put two and two together, Theo."

Theodore merely raised his eyebrow, imploring the Italian to continue.

"Your father wants you to join. Potter is savior of the world." Blaise gave a look that said something along the lines of 'why are you so incompetent?'.

"So you've been kissing Potter's arse?" Theodore still didn't quite get it.

Blaise laughed sharply. "I'd never lower myself like that! Let's just say Potter is keeping a safe eye on you."

"What?" Theodore snarled, realizing what Blaise was hinting. "You fed him a lie about how my father is _forcing_ me to become a Death Eater and I'm all _helpless_ and crap, didn't you?"

"And if I did?" Blaise shrugged. "Not much you can do about it now, Theo."

"Bastard." Blaise blew a mocking kiss, completely ignoring the dangerous narrowing of Theodore's eyes as he sauntered out of the classroom. Confrontations between the two were always like that. Short, simple, and sweet.

**TBC**


	2. The Exposition

**Title:** Selfish  
**Author:** Meanderings  
**Rating:** PG-13 for language  
**Chapter Title:** The Exposition  
**Notes:** This is late because I had two weeks of testing. . .  
Un-betaed

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**Selfish: The Exposition**

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Blaise sat in the large playroom, fumbling with a fake broomstick. Outside the balcony window, the sun was sinking and the sky was fading to orange instead of bright blue. Blaise paid no notice to the time or the female voice calling his name as he focused on trying to fix the broken broomstick. 

"Where's Father?" Blaise whispered quietly, frightened. His mother's hard eyes locked with his questioning ones. From the hand running through her loose hair and the slight nibble on her bottom lip, she seemed stressed and frustrated.

"I'll tell you later, Blaise, dear," she replied sharply in that musical voice of hers.

"But he hasn't been home for days, Mother," Blaise persisted, clinging onto the hem of Maura's dress and stumbling behind her quick, heel-accented steps. The whimpers that began to slip from his mouth tugged at Maura's heart and she slowed, turning on one foot to look down at her son.

"I said I'll tell you later, Blaise," she said more gently, "Why don't you take a nap or go Floo over to Theodore's? I'm sure he'd love to see you."

Feeling satisfied and warm from the reply, little Blaise smiled and left his mother alone, hoping that he would receive his answer tomorrow.

When he turned eleven and was about to board the train, from outside the window, his mother simply said, "Your father died when you were six. Don't ask me how. All you need to know is that you will always be a Zabini," before waving Blaise off and her lips twisting into a sugar-coated smile that was dosed with just the slightest bit of venom.

The Italian boy felt cold. He had seen that look before; he had noticed it when his mother looked at his fourth step-father. The man had died a day later. Was that what happened to his father? Then his compartment door slid open and Daphne Greengrass stepped in, driving Blaise from his thoughts. Suddenly, Blaise didn't miss his father anymore. He was a Zabini, a to-be-Slytherin.

_"Mum! Blaise just Flooed over here! Can I play with him?" Eight-year-old Theodore burst through the study door, imploring his mother to release him from lessons. The short, petite woman looked over her shoulder from where she sat at the vanity, lips pursed._

_"Oh, Theodore, what did I say?" She meant it teasingly.  
The boy smiled toothily. "Mother, may I play with Blaise now?"  
"Ask him if he wants to stay over for dinner. I'll have the house elves prepare him food."_

_Theodore nodded before rushing back to his room where he found the black boy lounging on a loveseat, brushing off soot from his robes._

_"I don't know how Mister Malfoy does it!" he grumbled as soon as Theodore entered. The brunette plopped down next to Blaise._

_He chuckled. "What about Draco's father?"  
"When he Flooes, he never has ash on him! I always do!"  
Theodore patted a small hand on the other boy's back. "Father says you have to get used it."_

_At that Blaise suddenly grew quiet and he slouched, a pout resting on his lips. Theodore blinked.  
"Is there something wrong, Blaise?"  
"Father hasn't been back for a week," Blaise said after a moment.  
"Oh." Theodore didn't know what to say. After all, they were only eight, too young to be dealing with all the gloom and doom of the world. "I'm sorry?"_

_"I just miss him, Theo!"  
"Father goes on a lot of trips, too! Mister Zabini will be back really soon."  
"Nrgh," Blaise made an odd sound. "It's a different kind of 'miss', Theo. I really, really, really miss Father."  
"That means you miss him a lot, Blaise."_

_Blaise frowned and his brow furrowed. "No, you still don't get it. It's a different feeling."_

_Theodore laughed, jumping up and pulling Blaise along with him. "Whatever you say, Blaise. There's no different kind of 'I miss you.'"_

One year later, Theodore knew what Blaise was talking about when Mrs. Nott died.

Three years later, his father stood on the platform solemnly as the train rattled out of the station. Theodore was a bit lost, unable to harness the courage to ask anybody where he could sit. He had always been shy except around Blaise. Where was Blaise? He blushed as he hit someone by accident with his trunk, trying to maneuver through the small aisle. He had immediately noticed Blaise's mother, tall and beautiful, but Blaise had been nowhere to be seen.

Then, as if some god answered his prayers, a compartment door slid open and Blaise's familar head stuck out, spotting Theodore almost instantly.

"Theo!" He bit back a grin; To-be-Slytherins didn't grin, they offered a welcoming turn of the lips. Theodore pushed back the thick layers of his bangs in relief. Daphne's head popped out, her thin lips quirking upward slightly as she said lightly, "You must be Nott. Zabini here can't stop talking about you. I can't imagine why."

Blaise scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "Lower-class people like you wouldn't understand."

"I beg to differ!" Daphne glared.

"Go ahead, beg, it won't change my mind," Blaise shot back disinterestedly. Theodore coughed quietly, diverting the other two's attention.

"From my first impression, I thought you two were friends," he said meekly. Blaise waved a hand, saying, "Friends, who needs them? We're _acquaintances_."

Daphne nodded in agreement, sliding back into the compartment. It was then Blaise noticed that Theodore was still holding onto his trunk's handle tightly and the stiff posture he had.

"Well, come on in." He stepped aside, letting Theodore push the trunk in first. The compartment door slid shut after Theodore sat down tiredly.

"Just leave the trunk in the middle," Blaise said, propping his feet up on it. Theodore followed his example, sliding down in his seat. Then the Italian asked, "So, Houses?"

Daphne rolled her eyes. "You sound like that Malfoy. What an arrogant boy. Anyway, Slytherin or Ravenclaw."

"Ravenclaw?" Blaise sounded horrified at the answer.

"There's nothing wrong with Ravenclaw. Well, what about you?" she snapped back.

"Slytherin," he said airily. "No other House." Daphne nodded in approval before turning her level gaze onto Theodore. "And what about you?"

Blaise smirked lazily and draped an arm around Theodore's shoulders. "Slytherin as well."

"I'm sure he can answer for himself."

Blaise looked offended for a moment. Theodore looked away from Daphene and out the window, muttering almost inaudibly, "Slytherin."

Then the compartment door slid open and a chubby boy inquired breathlessly, "Have you see a toad?"

"No. Get out!" Blaise scowled, eyeing the boy distastefully, and slammed the door shut. "I swear. . . that one's a Hufflepuff."

_"Hogwarts, Theo! Hogwarts!" Blaise exclaimed jovially as he crawled out from the fireplace, routinely brushing the soot of his trousers. Theo simply handed him a pastry the house elves had made. Blaise continued to blabber as he stuffed the sweet into his mouth. _

_"Slow down, Blaise. I can't understand," Theodore finally said through his laughter. The other boy grinned sheepishly and swallowed, wiping the excess icing off his face with the back of his hand. _

_"Hogwarts!" he yelled again and grabbed Theo's hands, spinning them around. To see his friend so excited caused Theodore to laugh even harder and he eventually broke away, collapsing on the floor, trying to stop laughing. Blaise fell down next to him, pounding his back. _

_"Stop! Stop!" Theo pleaded. _

_"Only if you stop laughing!" Blaise teased. _

_"All right, all right." Theodore took in a deep breath and regained his posture. "Anyway, I can't wait either!" _

_"I know!" Blaise's eyes were bright, holding a gleam to them Theo hadn't seen in a few years. They were ten now, almost eleven, and Blaise seemed to have entirely forgotten about his father, the loss plaguing him. "Magic! You have no idea how happy I am! I can't wait to be a Slytherin!" _

_"What if you don't turn out to be a Slytherin?" _

_"What?" Blaise looked at Theodore, scandalized that he would even think of such a question. "Of course I'm going to be a Slytherin. If I don't, then well. Well. I don't know. I'd jump off a cliff." _

_"Don't do that!" Theodore cried. "You'll definitely be a Slytherin then. But what about me?" _

_"What about you, hm?" Blaise propped his chin on a fist, eyes rolling up to the marble ceiling in thought. After a moment he looked back at Theodore and stated a-matter-of-factly, "Well, of course you'd be a Slytherin with me." _

_"What makes you so sure?" he asked, suddenly afraid, unsure, of his future in Hogwarts. What if he ended up in a bad House? He'd be a disgrace and then _he'd_ have to jump off a cliff. _

_Blaise shook his head. "Theo, Theo. It wouldn't be right to split up best friends. That's down right cruel! They'd never do that!" _

_Theo paused. "They wouldn't?" _

_Blaise nodded. "'Course not. But thing is, we won't be able to be friends when we get to Hogwarts." _

_"What? Why?" Theodore was alarmed. The other boy shushed him and motioned him to come closer, leaning forward to whisper conspirationally, "You see. Us Slytherin don't have friends so we're going to have to pretend we're not friends. We can be partners or something, but not friends. We'll still be friends in secret though. See?" _

_He drew back and gave Theodore a look. The other boy said slowly, "I get it." _

_"Good. Now, you're going to be in Slytherin, right?" Blaise grinned widely, expectantly, and Theodore nodded to please him, not wanting to anger Blaise again. Inside, he now hoped that he'd end up in Ravenclaw. _

Theodore ended up in Slytherin and as he sat down at the table, he was surprised to see Blaise smile at him. Blaise was called last and the Hat barely had a second to sit on his head before it blurted out, "SLYTHERIN!" The Hat was collected and the Great Hall applauded, the Slytherins the loudest, as Blaise strode over with lazy steps and a smirk. It was the first time Theodore had ever seen the other boy present himself like that. Blaise merely placed a comforting a hand on his shoulder for a moment as he sat down next to him and when the feast began, he leaned in close and whispered, "Don't forget."

By the end of the third year, Theodore realized that it didn't take a genius to figure it out; like mother like son. Well, in some ways. Blaise's skin wasn't that dark or that light. While his infamous mother was a pure black beauty, he was more of a soft, glazed, caramel tone and underneath the sun, his skin glistened like olive. By thirteen, it was obvious that Blaise would mature into a handsome man and the Italian already put his good looks to use. Theodore had lost track of how many dates his friend had had.

It was Blaise's personality, for the lack of a more complex term, that reminded Theodore of Blaise's unkind mother. He asked his Ravenclaw companions and they merely shrugged his concern off, saying that it was a Slytherin thing.

Theodore felt that they were growing away, not really knowing each other anymore, but they still spent enough time around each other to seem like they were good friends. They still acknowledged each other, but it never went past "Theo" and a curt nod. It seemed like they lost all the warmth they ever had. It frustrated him that Blaise would always drag him along to place and into situations he didn't want to be part of.

It was in their fourth year that Theodore decided that he should act as if he had enough of Blaise's attitude.

Upon hearing the news about the Yule Ball, Blaise spent all his free time flirting, which irritated Theo because he finally thought that their friendship was rekindling. They were in the Common Room with Malfoy and his group. Theo was sitting apart from them, slowly working his way through a Transfiguration essay, partly listening to their conversation. His attention was caught unwillingly when he heard Malfoy say loudly, "That Nott of yours, Blaise, is a lapdog. Is there anything he won't do for you?"

He discreetly looked at them through his bangs, pretending to be focused on his homework. Malfoy didn't look his way so he assumed the blonde didn't mean for him to overhear.

Blaise sat across from Malfoy in a rather unsophisticated position, legs slung over the arm of the couch, polished shoes resting on a glass coffee table, but he still managed to pull it off. His lips twitched. "He's not mine, at least, not yet. But Draco, I'm sure you know the answer. He's a _Slytherin_," he said in an exasperated tone, "The day he does anything. . .unbecoming of a Slytherin is the day you become a Gryffindor."

Parkinson laughed obnoxiously, slapping Malfoy on the arm. "That'll never happen, right Draky?"

"Right," Malfoy grounded out, pulling his arm away.

"But Theodore, he's a rather special fellow," Blaise continued and Theodore's grip tightened around his quill from hearing his friend beginning to fabricate lies. "He's loyal, Draco, very loyal. To me only though. Loyalty comes in handy sometimes, you know."

"I'm well aware," Malfoy said dryly. "Tell me, why _is_ he so 'loyal'?

"That's a secret I can't give away," Blaise returned.

Parkinson suddenly sat up earnestly, leaning forward. "Wait, wait. I bet he _likes_ you!" Malfoy let out a bark of a laughter, "Pansy, don't be stupid."

"No!" Parkinson whined. "Like, sexual favors! That's why."

This time Malfoy did laugh, a hand resting on his stomach. "Nott? He's a prude!" Blaise watched this all with a thoroughly amused expression, the entertainment he was getting out of it endless.

"So, Blaise, is Pansy right?"

Blaise raised and lowered a shoulder in response and then said, "Maybe."

Parkinson crowed with laughter. "Imagine that! Nott's a whore!" Blaise didn't object.

That was it. Why did Blaise always insist on degrading him? Theodore felt rage shake his frame. Lies, that was all Blaise ever said about him.

"I am not!" Theodore threw a book down on the table, the object's impact resounding. His classmates turned to look at him, surprised as if they never knew he was there. An uneasy expression slid across Blaise's face as he stood up stiffly, reaching out a hand toward Theodore.

"Theo, lighten up. We were only joking," he said. "Right, Malfoy?"

Malfoy nodded, but the expression on his face said otherwise. "Of course."

"Theo," Blaise tried placating, but Theodore didn't let him continue. "No! I'm tired of you treating me like this!"

"Theo!"

"No!" Theo cut him off, glaring. "I won't hear any more!" He sharply turned and left, robe billowing out behind him from his haste. He heard Malfoy's and Parkinson's mocking laughter even after he slammed the dorm door after him.

He refused to go down to dinner, ignoring Daphne's apologies for the others' behavior, telling himself that he wouldn't budge unless Blaise apologized. It wasn't until late at night when all the boys filed into the dorms that Blaise tried to seek him out. Theodore was in bed with the covers up to his waist, a small book in his hands.

Blaise quickly slid the book out of Theodore's loose hands so the boy's attention would be focused on him. He was met with a blank stare that concealed the anger beneath it.

"Theo, dear," Theodore heard Malfoy snigger at that, "We didn't mean any harm. We were all quite worried when you didn't turn up for dinner. But there's more important matters at hand now."

"More important matters?" Theodore couldn't fathom what Blaise was referring to. He dully noted that 'sorry' wasn't slipped into Blaise's so-called apology. Blaise nodded solemnly.

"Yes, you see, since your erratic behavior had us all occupied, I didn't finish my homework. Being the good mate you are, you'll finish it for me, won't you?" He flashed Theodore two rows of white teeth. The brunette's gaze lowered disappointedly to the creases of his covers as he felt outrage flare up again. Why oh why did Blaise always have to antagonize him?

"No," Theodore answered firmly.

"No?" There was a hint of fury in Blaise's voice. Theodore not acquiescing to his demand was unexpected and undesired.

"Yes, no! I'm tired of you. . .! Being!" Theodore groaned in frustration, throwing his hands up in the air and letting them tear through his hair.

"Being what?" Blaise inquired carelessly.

Being a liar, taking advantage of me, being controlling, never caring! But all Theodore said was, "You're an arse."

Blaise shrugged and spelled a roll of parchment over to him, setting it next to Theodore. "Ten paragraphs. Potions, same assignment."

Theodore sighed heavily and leaned his head back on the headboard, covering his eyes with one hand. "I hate you."

Blaise ignored the conviction in his voice. "No you don't. Stop being so melodramatic."

Theodore told himself that he was too tired to protest.

**TBC**


	3. The Conflict

**Title:** Selfish  
**Author:** Meanderings  
**Rating:** PG-13 for language  
**Chapter Title:** The Conflict  
**Notes:** Haha. Short. Right. It just keeps on getting longer and longer. Next time I update it will be the final part. I'm also very unsatisfied with the first chapter, since I wrote that two years ago, and I might change it when the final part comes around.  
Un-betaed.  
And a big 'thank you' to DeathRealm; your reviews always make me smile.

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**The Conflict**

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Theodore decided it was time to take matters into his own hands. There was only one way to deal with _this_, whatever this thing was between him and Blaise. He boldly cornered Harry Potter, much to displeasure of the Gryffindor's friends, but once Theodore whispered he needed to talk about his "predicament," Potter was all ears. The Gryffindor led Theodore down to the lake where he was sure nobody would overhear. 

Potter checked the area around first before turning his bright green eyes onto Theodore. "So, you wanted to talk?" he asked softly. Theodore fought the urge to grind his teeth.

"I'll cut to the point. My father-"

"Is forcing you, I know," Potter said understandingly. Theodore cursed.

"No. Look," he jabbed Potter in the chest with a finger, "you, stay out of my business. I _want_ to join and there's nothing you can do."

Potter looked confused. "So, uh, Zabini wasn't-"

"Was lying, yes," Theodore said flatly. "Let's make this simple for you. Blaise. Slytherin. See the relationship now? Next time he says anything about me, it's not true."

Theodore headed back to the castle, promptly, without another word to Potter, leaving the Gryffindor bewildered. Slytherins, he'd never understand them.

Theodore felt rather accomplished, until Blaise confronted him about it. Theodore glared sourly at the stones beneath his feet. Trust Potter to not keep his mouth shut. No, trust Blaise to always stick his nose into other people's business.

"What do you want?" he nearly snarled. Blaise stepped in front of him to stop Theodore.

"I heard you had a talk with Potter," he said coldly. Theodore looked away and Blaise took it as the affirmative to continue. "I know all the details. All I want to know is why."

"Why?" Theodore scoffed, pushing past Blaise, who simply followed him. "Because I bloody want to be a Death Eater, that's why!"

"Theo, Theo, Theo," Blaise rolled his eyes and abruptly stopped the other boy again, placing his hands firmly on his shoulders. "You don't want to be a Death Eater."

"Yes, I do!" Theodore pushed Blaise's hands off. "Stop trying to dictate my life!" There, he finally said it, the very beginning of his frustrations. He carefully watched Blaise's face for an indication of guiltiness, but all he saw was an expression of annoyance.

"Just. Shut up. You need someone to tell you to do what's right, otherwise you'd get lost. Now, you don't want to be a Death Eater. You hear? That's just your father speaking." Blaise smiled thinly at him as if that would calm him down. If anything, that spurred Theodore's determination to become a Death Eater more. Anything to make Blaise angry.

"No, I'm going to be a Death Eater. You can't tell me what to do anymore!" Theodore whirled away, roughly shoving the other boy's hands off. He couldn't deal with this.

"You need to be taken care of!" Blaise snapped, his tone exasperated. He grabbed Theodore's bony wrist and pulled the boy toward him. Then Theodore punched him, so fast that neither boy really processed what just happened. The black boy reeled backward, fingers instinctively reaching up to feel the damage, bleeding nose and most likely a heavy bruise. He felt his eyes burn for a second. Theodore's hand uncurled and he simply stared in disbelief at the blood decorating his fingers and knuckles, horrified at what he just did. He let out a wordless cry.

"Just leave me alone!" he sobbed and then fled.

Blaise groaned, pinching his nose as he rushed to the Infirmary. After a quick fix-up and a lecture from madam Pomfrey, Blaise was released, the sharp angles of his face unblemished again. When he stepped into the Common Room, his eyes caught the end of Theodore's robe whipping around the corner of the staircase. Still running away? Blaise let a small huff of air; an obvious sigh showed lack of control. Ignoring Malfoy's taunts, he trekked up the stairs where he knew Theodore would be buried behind a book. Always a book-lover, Blaise found that aspect endearing. There weren't many Slytherins he knew that found books worthy of their time, but Theodore was different and if Blaise had anything to do with it, he'd remain that way.

True to his assumption, Theodore was curled up in a fiber recliner, shoes and socks left on the floor and robe discarded on his bed, leaving him in an untucked shirt and black slacks. The gangly Slytherin made a point of ignoring Blaise, emphatically turning a page, not looking up even when Blaise perched on the bed next to him.

"Theodore."

"No, go away," Theodore immediately replied as if by instinct.

"Don't worry," Blaise said lightly. "I will once I've said my piece and you've seen the truth. Theodore rolled his eyes, murmuring something incomprehensible.

"Theodore," Blaise half-sang his name. The brunette whipped his head around to glare at Blaise. When would Blaise stop talking to him like he was a child?

"Now, I forgive you for being so difficult." Blaise gave him the half-smile that charmed so many. Theodore was speechless at Blaise's ignorance. The other Slytherin laughed at his expression and patted his head the way one would do to a pet. "It's okay. As long as you have me, you won't go astray."

Theodore bit back his groan and ran his hands down his face, but he could feel himself submitting to Blaise's words. Maybe he really did need someone to take care of him. He was so weak.

The two never spoke of the incident again, Blaise bordering scarily chipper when he came down to breakfast the next morning, followed by a much more disgruntled Theodore. Instead of sitting next to Blaise, Theodore took a seat next to Malfoy, who acknowledged him with a nod before turning back to his toast. Theodore wasn't sure what spurred him to break the norm, but he looked at Blaise for his reaction. The other boy merely raised an eyebrow, in what Theodore thought was disapproval for a moment, and turned away with a smile.

Days progressed so smoothly it surprised Theodore. There were no fights and the absence of them soothed Theodore so much that other Slytherins remarked he was pleasant to be around. Then Theodore nearly barreled around the corner upon Blaise and Potter, but he quickly rushed back around the corner. He peered around; neither of the other boys noticed his abrupt intrusion.

"—funny, Potter. I'd thought by now you'd realize that I'm neutral. No involvement, yes?" Blaise was saying almost sarcastically.

Potter was frustrated with Blaise's flippancy. "Zabini! Come on. I know you don't like Malfoy."

Blaise snorted. "Oh yes, that's a big incentive."

Potter raised an eyebrow. "Well, I would think it is." If Theodore didn't know better, he would have thought Potter was trying to be funny to a Slytherin. Blaise shrugged.

"Sorry, Potter. But I'm not going to the creepy wizard and I'm not going to you either. Good luck though, you'll need it." With that, Blaise pivoted around and walked off in the direction of the dungeons. Potter growled and kicked the wall. Theodore leaned against the wall with wide eyes.

Theodore had been intrigued when he had first asked a long time ago, "Why don't come with me to the Dark Lord," and Blaise had shrugged and replied offhandedly with, "It doesn't matter. This way, either way I'd win."

Now it seemed like he needed to know Blaise's answer, but what he had asked had gotten him the oddest answer. What had Blaise meant that he'd win either way? Theodore shook his head to clear his thoughts. If there was one thing he was sure about Blaise it was that he only answered important questions if they were asked the right way.

"Yes, Theo?" Blaise looked at him expectantly. Theodore felt his throat run dry and shook his head to indicate it was nothing. He stood up and left, feeling foolish. Blaise watched him go and clicked his tongue. He smiled to himself as he went back to playing chess with a sixth year.

Theodore felt his cheeks grow hot as he stood outside the dungeons. Of all times for words to fail him, it had to be then. Blaise was probably laughing at him.

It was awhile until Theodore had the courage to confront Blaise again. He burst into the Common Room with such quick, long strides it seemed that even if he slowed down the least bit, he'd falter and turn back around. He nonchalantly sat down between Daphene and Malfoy. The other seventh year Slytherins were also gathered in the area. Theodore feigned indifference as he opened a textbook, eyes darting over to Blaise, waiting to be noticed. It was perfect. When he would pose the question to Blaise, there was no way Blaise could avoid answering it, not with all the other Slytherins around. He tapped his foot impatiently.

Blaise finally raised his eyes from the parchment. Theodore wasn't looking at him; he was looking at the book in his lap. All Blaise could see was thick, brown hair, the longer strands falling forward to cover Theodore's passive eyes. He kept his mouth shut. Maybe another day.

That night Theodore cursed so loudly that Malfoy marked it down on his calendar since it was such a rare occurrence. How could he have lost himself in the book and completely forgot about the question? He kicked a bed.

"Careful, that's Goyle's," Malfoy warned from his own bed.

"As if he could beat me up, that idiot," Theodore spat back.

Malfoy chuckled. "Temper, temper. Who would have thought Blaise was right?"

"What?" Theodore paused. Malfoy smiled smugly at him.

"I asked Blaise why you had the emotional range of a dead person. He said you were far from it." Malfoy laughed as he recalled the conversation. "Anyway, the initiation is coming soon. You're coming with me, yes?"

Theodore was caught off guard from the abrupt change in topic. "Yeah, yeah," he replied distractedly.

"No problem hurting people, Theodore?" Malfoy continued in the same tone like he was talking about how pleasant the weather was.

"No," was the short reply.

"Hm, thought not," Malfoy said.

"I see you have no problems either," Theodore commented. Malfoy's gaze flickered onto him.

"No, I suppose not," Malfoy replied darkly.

It was a quiet evening that found Theodore almost dying from curiosity. Luckily, Malfoy had taken his goons out for the night, no doubt to cause trouble. Now it was just him and Blaise, both readying for bed.

Unable to hold it back anymore, Theodore asked him the same question, nearly running his words together. "Why don't you come with me to the Dark Lord?"

Blaise stretched out the kinks in his limbs. "Don't get yourself kill, Nott. I expect you to come back." He promptly muttered something under his breath, shutting the curtains around him, leaving Theodore's question half-answered. The Slytherin wondered if that meant Blaise was considering.

* * *

The initiation night was tonight. Theodore was shivering with anticipation, unable to keep still for very long. The other Houses looked at him oddly, but the Slytherins patted him on the back and actually laughed heartedly, wishing him luck. He was going to need it to make it through the night. 

Malfoy came up to him, directing them to the lakeside. Over the course of a month, he found himself growing closer to Malfoy. Malfoy wasn't even Malfoy anymore. He was Draco. Theodore was puzzled at Draco's sudden affection for him, almost fake, but he could tell the blonde's concern was genuine. They stood side by side, gazing out onto the glittering surface of the lake. Draco was dressed in a simple coat, his blonde hair blowing freely in the wind. Theodore was chilled more easily, bundled up in thick garments, a dark scarf wrapped his neck and arms wrapped around himself.

"Cold?" Draco started. Theodore nodded.

"Well, it's going to be a lot colder tonight." To anybody else, Draco would have sounded condescending and harsh, but Theodore knew better. Perhaps he knew Draco better than he knew Blaise. Beneath Draco's icy tone was worry. Draco looked at the other boy. Theodore looked like a little child.

"Scared?"

Theodore shook his head. Draco let out a breath of amusement, kicking a rock into the lake. "That's funny, Nott. Not scared? Who do you think you are? The high and mighty Golden Boy?"

Theodore stared at him, confused.

"Be scared," Draco said forcefully. "You're going to have to do things you've never done before."

Theodore stuck his chin out arrogantly. "I can handle it."

"That's what they all say," Draco said quietly, closing his eyes. Theodore waited; in that one month time, he had learned maybe too much about Draco. "They all go in expecting it to be easy, but it's not. It's dark and the Dark Lord towers above everybody. You don't see his face, not until you've joined the ranks, but you can feel him everywhere." He opened his eyes, staring straight into Theodore's, haunted.

"He makes you do things, Theo. He makes you torture children and kill." Here he swallowed. "Have you killed before?"

Theodore shook his head the slightest bit. Draco smiled at him sadly.

"You will, and after that, you'll track of how many. And after you've done all that, the Dark Lord shows you the pain the dead experienced. The others watch and once you're done, you kiss his robes and he gives you the mark."

Draco let silence fall between them, Theodore surprised beyond words. What Draco told was no different than what newspaper described, no different than the rumors that were spread, but Draco sounded so empty it chilled Theodore.

After the war was over, no matter the outcome, what would happen to them? Them, the people that mattered, the people that were part of the war. The dead would be forgotten. The tale would always be told, but would people truly understand it? The children to come, they would look at the war as if it was something insignificant. They would think they could have done better, that the war wasn't as big as a deal the people who fought it said it was. They would be disrespectful, ignorant, and stupid. They would never understand.

Here he and Draco stood alone and nobody would know what they had to go through.

"I'm sorry, I got carried away," Draco said quietly.

"It was nothing," Theodore said back. Did the inevitable war change people before it happened? He had never heard Draco apologize to anyone, but he just did, and to of all people, him. Theodore didn't say anything. Draco had said it to him only, but he was making amends for everything despicable he had done. The war would leave stains that Draco could never clean away.

"I just wanted you to be ready," Draco stuttered, "because in the end, it's all worth it." Draco stepped closer and without warning, he pushed his left sleeve up. Theodore almost forgot how to breathe. There on Draco's pale skin was the gleaming Mark, so dark and so beautiful. Draco smiled fondly down at it before pulling his sleeve down.

"It's the best thing I ever decided to do," Draco said reverently. Theodore couldn't wait. Draco slipped his hand through Theodore's.

"You'll go to the Dark Lord with one purpose and you'll come back with thousands." It wasn't a question. Theodore nodded, but he wasn't sure if he had a purpose in the first place.

Draco gripped his hand tightly. "Come back sane," he joked. "You don't want to make the history books as the insane one." Theodore laughed.

"I won't. That title's already reserved."

Dinner was relatively quiet. The younger Slytherins kept on eying the seventh years, betting on which one was going to be initiated. Theodore grinned as he kept on hearing Draco's name pop up; if they only knew he was already marked. For the first time, Theodore felt happy as his yearmates, and those secretive Ravenclaws, came up to him and whispered words of admiration and promises. He never noticed the sour expression on Blaise's face or the glare.

Theodore walked down to the dungeons among the talkative Slytherin crowd. Blaise trailed behind, catching glimpses of Theodore's smile. What a jolly fool. The other Houses thought the Slytherins were holding a party from their happy disposition, but instead they dispersed and retired early. The initiates were going to need quiet to prepare.

Theodore felt giddy and carefree on the inside as he climbed the stairs, only to see Blaise waiting outside the dorm door. Blaise was leaning against the oak door, looking coolly at him with hooded eyes, a downward twist in his lips. Theodore stopped in his tracks, all traces of elation seeping out of him and into the floor.

Blaise approached him and within seconds, Theodore found himself pinned to the rough, stone wall, Blaise's dark eyes uncomfortably close. The black Slytherin leaned against Theodore's wrists as support.

"You're not going to the Dark Lord, are you?" Blaise's voice was low. Theodore didn't dare breathe. There was a gleam in Blaise's eyes that reminded him of rage, but Blaise was never simple as that. It all came down to this. Whatever he said would decide his fate. All he had to say was, "You're wrong," to prove himself. He could almost taste the victory heavy on his tongue.

Theodore took in a shuddering breath and shut his eyes. "No, I'm not."

His eyes snapped open at his own words. Blaise stared at him heatedly, leaning in closer. "Of course you're not. You'd never do that to me." Then he drew back, giving Theodore one last look before turning the door open.

"Come on," he said softly, beckoning with one hand. Theodore was in a state of mortification; why did nothing come out the right way around Blaise? He followed the other boy. Silently, after removing some clothing, Theodore climbed into bed while Blaise sat by his head. Hair nestled against the creamy pillow in brown curls. Theodore couldn't find the air to speak. Blaise simply clutched Theodore's hand in his own, much like Draco had done earlier, yet so differently. Theodore had never felt so torn than then.

He waited until he was sure Blaise was asleep before slipping out of his bed.

When he woke, he knew something was wrong. His hand felt cold and when he looked down, he saw that Theodore was gone. The space Theodore should have been was cold. So he had been tricked; why did he feel surprised?

Blaise let his composure slide; damn the Slytherin sophistication! He grabbed the nearest object, which happened to be an oil lamp, and threw it against the wall with all his might. It satisfied him little as he watched the glass tumble to the ground. His actions were a blur to him as he yelled wordlessly, objects crashing in discord. It wasn't until he had broken as many objects as he possibly could that Blaise felt somewhat calmed down.

He let out the longest and loudest scream he had ever let out, not caring who heard. Blaise didn't stop until he was out of breath, panting harshly. Why didn't Theodore understand? Blaise sighed quietly and ran a hand down the side of his face. No, he had to think about this rationally. He left the room without another glance, using the wall as support as he walked slowly down the stairs. It wasn't Theodore's fault. Maybe he had been too cryptic about his intention. Theodore always had been the innocent one. Blaise stopped, closing his eyes as he breathed in deeply to give himself a moment. How could he have blamed Theodore for all this when it was his entire fault? Why did it have to be so hard to say it? Blaise wished that he could have flat out told Theodore in three simple words, but it was too late now. Maybe there was still a chance.

The dark eyes were ringed with black and the dark hair was mussed as he stepped into the Common Room. Malfoy raised a slim eyebrow at his housemate's state, those hard gray eyes raking over the wrinkled pajamas donning the boy.

"You look like shit," Malfoy stated. Blaise looked up and he truly looked as if he was about to collapse.

"I haven't looked in a mirror yet, Draco. Thank you for the compliment," he muttered as he sank down on a leather couch. Malfoy's lip curled slightly in disgust. "Zabini, I swear, I've never seen you so vulnerable. Shape up. Your little crush isn't coming back."

"And what do you know of it, Malfoy?" Blaise spat, the tired eyes suddenly burning. "Theodore will come back, I swear my life on it. He's not like that." There came the denial again.

The blonde Slytherin laughed, fixing a cold stare onto Blaise. "You know Nott isn't coming back, Blaise. You can do better. I don't know why it bothers you so much that he's siding with the Dark Lord."

"You don't give a damn if he joins. You're a Death Eater yourself, Malfoy! You don't how it feels to know that your best friend is going to give his life away for some demented, lunatic wizard." Blaise was almost shaking; he could feel his clenched fingers twitching against his palms. Malfoy kept his composure.

"You'll pay for speaking like that toward the Dark Lord." His eyes flashed and the stare intensified. "Go clean yourself, Zabini. I'll be down at the Great Hall."

Malfoy moved toward the portrait where he paused in its shadow to listen to Blaise spit obscenities, only probably due to his cranky mood, and stomp up the stairs to his dorms. Smirking slightly, though it wasn't with malice, Malfoy stepped out into the hall, joining Parkinson as they walked together to breakfast, and mused out loud, "Hm. Zabini fancies Nott."

Some pale faces were seen among the tables. Blaise trudged to his seat, tired and defeated. He avoided the smirk that was aimed at him from Malfoy the entire breakfast. The blonde Slytherin, though he supposed he should feel sorry for the black boy, could only feel victory. It seemed that the only friendship forged among the Slytherins wasn't what it seemed. They weren't meant to that close, just simply bound together by some sort of ethical behavior. Only Blaise tried to go against tradition and at last Theodore broke away. Malfoy charmed his pumpkin juice into wine and downed it. This was something to toast to.

All day Blaise was plagued. He moved through the day like a body walking to someone else's accord. When night finally came, he collapsed onto his bed and fell into a dreamless sleep. Malfoy was the only one to stay up to wait for Theodore.

Theodore returned like a dying shadow right before dawn came. When he had left, he had anticipated filling this void that had been growing the past years into something he couldn't ignore. To be a Death Eater was a glorious honor. He thought that the mark on his arm would satisfy his curious desire to defy Blaise. Instead, that was all it was, just a mark. It did nothing to appease the loneliness that welled up inside his chest. The morning was cold, but the mark burned against his skin, a constant reminder of the mistake he'd never admit he made.

**TBC**


	4. The Denouement

**Title:** Selfish  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Notes:** I just realized this entire thing was a pain to write. Sorry for any mistakes. I was in a hurry.  
**Warnings**: Slash. Unbetaed.  
**Disclaim**: Don't own.

* * *

**The Denouement**

* * *

Blaise walked up the seemingly endless stairs of the school. They were empty and quiet aside from him. It had been a good day, and he was feeling relatively happy. Every step brought him closer to the corner where the stairs would change directions and from that corner, he could see a cloak billowing. It was tied to the staircase. Blaise clucked his tongue. It probably belonged to some second year. 

He turned the corner without much thought. Yep, it was definitely a second year. Then a discontenting sound reached his ears. With every echo of his footstep, there was an ominous _drip_. Suspiciously, Blaise looked back down. _Thump_. _Drip. Thump. Drip._ Then he spotted it. It was the cloak. All of sudden he could see a thick rope coiling around the railing and a pair of feet dangling out.

Blaise hurried down the steps, body trembling in fear. He was hesitant about touching the cloak, but he inched forward and threw back the hood. He recoiled and screamed. The rope was wrapped around the body's neck, hugging it with purple and blue bruises. The body dangled off the railing, hands hanging limply as blood steadily dripped from the fingers like water from a leaky faucet. Familiar brown hair framed an angelic, innocent face. It was Theodore.

Blaise jolted up in bed, covered in sweat. He flung the curtains open and was greeted with a rush of cold air. The sun was barely above the horizon, the sky tinted the slightest maroon. He ran a hand down one side of his face, feeling the clammy skin. Instinctively, just like he did every morning, he looked over to Theodore's bed.

There was a lump under the thick bed covers, rising and falling slightly. Blaise slipped off his bed, bare feet hitting the cold stone floor softly, and crawled onto the other bed. With a careful hand, he pulled down the cover to reveal Theodore's pale face. Blaise took the rare moment to observe the other boy. It wasn't very often he saw Theodore this calm.

His gaze wandered over to where Theodore's hands were curled up on the pillow. Theodore was still wearing the school's uniform. Immediately Blaise thought the worst. He pushed Theodore's left sleeve down and over his elbow. Theodore shivered as cold air hit his skin.

"Oh, Theo," Blaise murmured sadly, kissing his apologies gently onto the mark.

Tired blue eyes snapped open to meet his intense brown ones. Theodore stopped breathing for a moment. For a long moment, only their breaths were heard. Slowly, Blaise sat back, looking away. Theodore, though, sat up abruptly and swung his legs over the side of the bed along side of Blaise's. Blaise could almost touch the awkwardness between them.

The sun peeked over the monochromatic horizon line when Theodore spoke, voice shaky. "I-I did it. I did it. You can't do anything n-now." He stared adamantly straight ahead. "It's n-not like you care. You never cared."

Blaise could only focus on Theodore's shaking hands. Did the Dark Lord hold his frail hand, white on white, and did he stroke the palm comfortingly throughout the pain? They were so thin and slender, every joint defined, and perfect for dancing on piano keys.

"I've always cared," he replied quietly. He heard a choking sob.

"Stop lying and I'll stop lying!" Theodore's voice cracked. Blaise saw the water gather along the rims of the eyelashes framing Theodore's blue eyes. Theodore sniffed and looked up, blinking furiously to keep his tears at bay.

"Theo, Theo. Whatever I've done, put it behind you. Come on, let me help you," Blaise said. Theodore shook his head. "Help me with what?"

Blaise shrugged a shoulder. "Your arm. It hurts, doesn't it? Like it's being burned apart."

Theodore looked at him in surprise as his hand went up to rest protectively on his left arm. "How did you know?"

The other Slytherin offered him a weak smile. "That's how Draco described it."

"You helped him?" Now his expression was one of incredibility. Blaise nodded. It was until then did Theodore even consider Blaise and Draco as friends. He frowned as his thoughts ran deeper.

"If you helped him, then you knew," he said slowly, eyes flickering. "Why didn't you try to stop him?"

"Who says I didn't?" Blaise said defensively.

"Then you're just using me for a chance to get rid of your guilt? A second chance of some sort."

Blaise groaned, "What is it? Just tell me. What do I have to do to get you to just—"

"Trust you?"

"Yes, that!"

Theodore snorted softly. "If we keep at this, we'll never get anywhere."

Blaise glared. "Then you first."

The brunette sighed and shook his head. "There you go again."

"I can't do this anymore." As Blaise slid off the bed, Theodore remarked, "See? Running away again."

Blaise swiveled around and snapped, "What do you mean by that?"

Theodore frowned crossed his arms across his chest, wincing as his left arm brushed roughly against his shirt. "Admit it."

"Admit what?"

"You know what I'm talking about." Theodore sneered.

"No, I don't," Blaise hissed. How could Theodore know?

"See, that's the problem," Theodore said testily. "If you won't even say it to me. . .then I don't know what. You hate me, don't you? That's why you're always avoiding me and never telling me anything. Just nod and we can be done with this entire issue."

Blaise froze. He saw Theodore's blue eyes become wet again and the tell-tale twitch of his mouth. His fingers were clenched tightly in the folds of his robes.

"It's fine. I get it." Theodore's soft voice broke Blaise out of his daze. How could Theodore ever think that? Without thinking, he stepped in front of the other boy, a hand under his chin, and kissed him tenderly. All he saw was the kaleidoscope of blue in his eyes. When he pulled away, he stared, waiting for the reaction. The silence was long, but Theodore finally whispered, "It hurts."

He bit down on his lip, but Blaise caught the slight movement of the corners. Theodore was trying not to smile. Blaise didn't care for the smile spreading across his own face. Instead, he leaned forward and claimed the other's lips again, enjoying the warmth that spread through him. He pushed Theodore onto his back and climbed readily onto him. Sprawled on top of the other boy, they kissed until they ran out of air.

"What hurts?" Blaise asked good-humoredly.

"My arm," Theodore replied with a cheeky smile.

The other raised an eyebrow. "Not your heart?"

Theodore laughed lightly. "Don't be stupid, Zabini. Now get off—"

"Maybe later."

"Blaise! I'm being serious. My arm is killing me." Blaise mouthed at his neck, causing Theodore to smack his shoulder playfully. He rolled his eyes and crawled off the boy, drawing out his wand from his pocket. With a twist of his wrist, he transfigured one of the numerous pillows into a wet cloth. Theodore slowly sat up and inched toward him until they were pressed thigh to thigh. He rolled up his sleeve carefully and was tempted to say, "It's beautiful," but he swallowed it down as the wet cloth was pressed to the mark like a hammer to iron. He hissed and instinctively tried to jerk his arm away, but Blaise held firm.

"It'll go away after a while," he said after a while as if he was commenting about the weather.

Theodore took the chance to confess, "I don't know what to do." Blaise kept silent. "I feel lost in the war."

"What are you fighting for?" Blaise asked quietly. Theodore's eyes mirrored the fear in his voice. "Everything. Him. To purge the world."

"Wrong," Blaise scoffed. "You're fighting for nothing."

"Whatever," he muttered, abruptly tugging the sleeve down. The cloth dropped onto the bed, soaking the sheets.

"Sorry," Blaise quickly said, the word slipping out of his mouth. Theodore didn't show any surprise. "We'll talk about it later."

"No," Theodore objected insistently, "It's over."

Blaise looked out to where the sun graced the sky, erasing any trace of the nightmares he had. It made him wonder what tomorrow would bring. He pressed a kiss to the top of Theodore's head before resting his chin on it reassuringly.

"Where do we stand?" Theodore asked sleepily.

"I don't know," was the hollow reply.

"I know it'll work out. I'm still trying to figure things out, so don't get in the way." There was no threat, just a request.

It was then Blaise decided that this would be the last lie he would ever tell. "Fine."

Years later, Blaise found himself out of Hogwarts and strolling through the halls of the cells in Azkaban. He paused every now and then to curiously examine the person inside a cell, smirked as he passed Bellatrix Lestrange, and finally stopped in front of an empty cell. Grasping the bars in his hands and leaning forward, Blaise tentatively said, "Theodore?"

The cell became occupied. The former Death Eater emerged from the shadows that covered at least half of the tiny room. The blue eyes that Blaise knew since he was three were now haunted and angry. The lanky frame was thin, and the bags underneath the dull eyes hung like cocoons from a branch.

"Blaise Zabini?" The weak man threw himself at the bars, eyes wide as if they were unable to believe what they were seeing.

"Yes." Blaise forced a small smile onto his face.

Theodore's mouth opened and closed until he finally found words. "Why are you here?"

"To pay you a visit obviously."

"Then you're wasting your time. I want nothing to do with traitors," Theodore spat.

Blaise sighed wearily. "Theodore—"

"Don't call me that!"

"Theodore," Blaise continued, "He's dead. Why do you insist on being like _this_?"

"I have my reasons."

"Bullshit! If you even had reasons, they wouldn't make any sense, Nott! Have you gone completely insane?"

Theodore down-right laughed. "Listen to yourself, Zabini! Have I gone insane? Look where I am! And it's all your fault."

Blaise glared and muttered, "This wasn't what I came for."

"There's nothing for you here. I don't know why you bothered coming any way. I'm perfectly fine." Theodore added heavy sarcasm on the last word. "If you don't have a book for me, then leave, Zabini."

"Still the bookworm?" Blaise said. "I see old habits die hard."

Theodore rolled his eyes. "Why are you here, Zabini?"

"Just to see if you're happy."

"Happy? Of course I'm not happy! I lost that chance years ago. I hate you! If it wasn't for you and your damn meddling, I wouldn't have ended up like this. My life!" The crazed shine of hysteria Blaise feared to see danced in Theodore's eyes.

"I'm disappointed in you, Theodore," Blaise murmured.

The other man didn't say anything. Blaise sighed and pushed himself away, turning around to leave.

"I'll see you tomorrow then."

He took about two steps before he heard Theodore's tired voice drift over to him. "Did you win?"

Blaise turned back around and didn't have to think about his answer.

"No."

* * *

**The End.  
Review?**


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